


you had me at 'i stole your lunch'

by asdfgjkl



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asdfgjkl/pseuds/asdfgjkl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For every milestone Jean achieved in his love life, he had the food deity to thank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you had me at 'i stole your lunch'

**/one/**

“Are you getting anything, Jean?”

“Nah, I brought lunch today.”

“Oh,” Marco said, before he realized there was a sizeable gap in front of him and hurried to move down the line. “Where’s your lunchbox?”

Jean, who was leaning against the railing separating the cafeteria queue, looked down at his hands and was surprised to find nothing there. He looked up at Marco. He glanced down again. He turned to face the cafeteria, eyes scanning the room, looking for a neatly wrapped, double-decker _bento_.  

His mom was going to kill him, pick his soul up from hell, and kill him again.

“Maybe you left it in the classroom?” Marco suggested.

“I’m gonna go check,” he murmured.

“Okay, I’ll save you a seat!”

**

Jean ran down the hallways – feet skidding almost to a complete stop at every turn as he prayed he wouldn’t run (or worse, _crash_ ) into any teachers because running indoors was prohibited and the punishment wasn’t worth breaking the rule for.

But his mom, he shuddered, his mom was scarier than any punishment, which was why he _needed_ to find that lunchbox as quick as possible.

His hand latched onto the handle of his classroom door as he whizzed by, in an effort to defy inertia. He came to a stop a second later, the door trembling with the force of his pull and the rubber of his sole squeaking with all the friction rubbed upon it.

Jean panted, once, twice, before he wrenched the door to his homeroom open-

-and found a brunette sitting cross-legged on the floor right beside his desk with – what the hell, _was that his lunchbox?_ – on her lap. She was chewing attentively, eyes on the food like there was no tomorrow, and her fingers were coated in some sort of red sauce - probably tomato – _definitely_ tomato if that was his lunchbox.

“Hey!” Jean exclaimed, whether in disbelief or rage, he wasn’t quite sure himself. “Where did you get that lunchbox from?”

The girl stayed quiet for a few seconds, still paying no attention to anything but the food, until her mind seemed to process the external noises that weren’t the crunch of fried shrimp in her mouth and urged her to assess her surroundings.

She looked up and saw Jean in the doorway.

She blinked. “Whut?” she said, mouth stuffed with delicious food.

“That lunchbox. Where did you find it?”

“Oh, this? I got it from under the table. I mean, it seems like such a waste of perfectly good food, so I ate it.”

She must’ve mistook his stunned silence for hunger because the next second she was offering him _his_ food, “Here, you can have half the shrimp. It’s really good.”

That seemed to snap Jean out of his stupor, “Of course it’s really good! My mom fried that!”

Sasha straightened visibly, her eyes wide and alert now. “This,” she said hesitantly, “is yours?”

“Yes! I can’t believe you would just- what are- _what were you thinking_?”

“Well, I couldn’t help it – it was right there! And I was hungry. And I forgot my lunch. And the shrimp is really good, please can I have one more?”

Jean looked at the girl exasperatedly. “No!”

And then he saw the state his lunch was in – almost finished, rice stuck to every surface and submerged in sauce, and half-bitten _everything_ , and he sighed and said, “Fine. Just- just take it.”

The girl immediately brightened up (the change was shocking) and continued picking on the platter of seafood before her.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice trailing off as a question.

He stared at her in utter disbelief – she had the nerve to steal food from someone whose name she didn’t even know? Well, yes, this was their first week in Secondary and she seemed to be new in town, but that didn’t excuse her behavior. At least show _some_ restrain and wait until she was acquainted with people before stealing their food.

“Jean,” he said.

“Thanks, Jean. I’m Sasha, nice to meet you!”

 

**/two/**

Somehow, after their very fateful first meeting, the two found out that they hit it off quite well and therefore decided it was in their best interest to continue being friends, even though she was a ‘weird, ravenous witch who stole his food on the third day of school, can you believe it’ and he was a ‘meanie who refused to share his lunch, talk about chivalry’.

Every time Sasha complained about Jean’s ‘selfishness’, which was every lunch, Marco would end up having to sacrifice a slice of his own bread or a cup of his own pudding and give it to Sasha, just to keep her appetite at bay.

Little did Sasha know that Jean would secretly compensate Marco with whatever he gave Sasha – every day after school, Marco would find a piece of bread or a bottle of milk in his locker. It wasn’t after he realized that the food he found always matched up to what he gave Sasha that he understood what was going on.

He chuckled because although Jean had no problem with schoolwork and leading clubs, he could be such a moron sometimes.

**

It was a quiet Saturday night, and Sasha and Jean were lazing about his tiny, one-bedroom flat – the one he moved into when they started high school – marathoning the hit anime, _Attack on Food_ because Sasha simply _had_ to watch it, for obvious reasons. The title itself was probably a huge giveaway.

“I’m hungry,” Sasha moaned ten minutes into the twelfth episode.

Jean shushed her, “We’re just getting to the good part.”

She groaned and threw the pillow he had laying about his couch onto her face, “Exactly! Everything looks so delicious – I want to eat your screen up.”

Jean slid away from Sasha, a horrified expression plastered on his face. “Please, don’t. Televisions are expensive – you won’t be able to pay me back.”

“Jean, order pizza.”

“Go order it yourself.”

“You’ll pay, though?”

“Why should I pay for you?” he grumbled.

“Because I’m broke, you know that!”

“Well, I’m broke too!”

“You _ass_ hole!”

“Why the fuck am _I_ the asshole?”

She groaned again. “Please! I’m begging!”

Jean let out a frustrated crescendo of a noise, “Fine, fine, just shut up already!”

She immediately pulled the cushion off her face, revealing a victorious grin. “Thanks,” she said, without a trace of shame.

Jean scoffed as he picked up his phone and dialed their go-to pizza delivery service. He placed their order and, within seconds, resumed watching _Attack on Food_.

When his doorbell rang, he reluctantly stood up and asked Sasha to pause the show and ‘don’t you dare watch without me while I pay for your food’. Sasha hummed an affirmative and watched Jean open the door and close it behind him.

Sasha thought that was weird because it wasn’t necessary for him to walk outside, but she paid it no heed – whatever worked as long as the night ended with a pan of pizza down her stomach.

Jean entered moments later and Sasha immediately pressed ‘play’. He placed the cardboard box on the coffee table in front of the couch and murmured something about going to the toilet.

Sasha ignored him and eagerly snatched the box of pizza, damn near hugging the thing even though it was probably burning.

She opened the box, eyes still glued to the screen, and was about to pull off a slice when she noticed words scribbled on the inside of the cover.

“I KNOW THIS IS CHEESY,

BUT WOULD YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND?”

Her jaw dropped as she stared at the messy handwriting for god knows how long. Eventually, after deciding that Jean was simply taking too long in the bathroom she stood up, the anime _and_ the pizza now things in the background, completely forgotten, and bolted for Jean’s bedroom, made a sharp right, and started banging on the bathroom door.

“Jean!”

Something that sounded suspiciously like a dying moose answered her.

“Come out!” she yelled.

She crossed her hands and plopped down on his bed as she waited. Soon enough, there was a click, and the door opened, revealing a Jean whose whole face was painted a cute shade of pink.

Sasha laughed. The pink spread to the tips of his ears and his neck.

“Yes,” she said, once she had calmed down. “Yes, Jean, yes.”

Because he didn’t seem to believe her, she rolled her eyes and repeated herself, “You’re too punny for your own good, but yes. Gladly.”

And then she added, “But only if you buy me pizza.”

They finished the rest of _Attack on Food_ with Jean’s arm around Sasha waist and her head on his chest.

 

**/three/**

“I’m home!” Sasha called out, planting a hand on the wall as her other hand worked on getting her poor feet out of their stiff, heeled confines.

“Jean?” she said once both her feet are on flat, heavenly ground.

There was no answer. She sighed, figuring that he must be working late again tonight. If he was, he would probably call around 7 – her eyes flitted to the clock above their television, it read 6.30 – which was 30 minutes from now.

Oh well, she might as well take a well-deserved bath and heat something for dinner instead of waiting around for his return. At least, that was her plan before she saw the box that looked suspiciously like a box of _cake_ on their dining table. A post-it note on its cover said, “To: Sasha”.

She gasped, not wanting to get her hopes up because she wasn’t sure Jean was kind enough to indulge her in her guiltiest pleasures. But then she took the cover off and there was, indeed, cake waiting for her and she squealed and tore open the plastic with the knife and cut out a slice for herself. And another. And another.

Before she knew it, she had single-handedly devoured a quarter of the cake.

She was on her last slice, she _swore_ this was her last slice, and she was moaning contentedly, the chocolate oozing out of the middle of the cake where her teeth had bit into it, when something sharp hit the roof of her mouth and she coughed in surprise.

It had a metallic taste, like blood. She took it out of her mouth after she was done with her cake. It was kind of disgusting, all covered in saliva, but her curiosity won over her sense of hygiene and she wiped all the clear liquid off with a piece of tissue before she held the silver band up, right under the fluorescent light above the table, and started inspecting it.

Of course, that was exactly when Jean chose to arrive home, opening the door with the turn of a lock and a subtle creak.

Jean saw her see him. Jean saw the item in her hands, and his heart rate picked up when his eyes drifted to the open box on the table and the cake that was no longer a perfect circle and he realized what just transpired.

Jean face-palmed himself.

“What?” Sasha said defensively. “It was on the table. It was sitting innocently on the table! How was I supposed to know not to touch it?

“It even had a ‘To: Sasha’ note attached to it!”

“The fact that you’re being defensive means that you _know_ you did something wrong.”

“Well, that’s only because you’re looking at me like that! What’s this ring, anyway?”

And that tone Sasha spoke with, like she knew what it was but didn’t want to presume for fear of being wrong – that tone did something strange to Jean – it twisted his insides and made him feel like he had to tell her, _show_ her, that her fear was misplaced and that there was nothing to be feared.

So, he walked towards her, his gait stilted because, for all the pep talk he’d given himself, he was still nervous about the huge impact this would have on their relationship. And then there was also the problem of whether or not she would agree to this change.

He pried the ring out of her fingers, gently, and got down on one knee.

“Marry me?” his voice was soft, but so clear in the quiet of their little house.

Sasha started to chuckle. She extended her hand and allowed him to put her finger through the ring.

Her eyes were glistening wet when she said, “Only if you buy me pizza.”

 

**/four/**

They were lying in bed, sated and exhausted after a long day. It was a good day, though, filled with family and friends and happiness and things a wedding usually entailed.

Her back was pressed against his chest, their feet were all tangled up and he had an arm around her waist. He knew he would wake up with a dead arm tomorrow, but he found that he couldn’t care less right now.

Jean’s eyelids were this close to fully drooping when Sasha shifted, slightly, and nudged him with her elbow.

“Hm?” he asked, too sleepy to form coherent words.

“There’s cake in the fridge,” she mumbled, drowsiness infusing her words.

Jean chuckled – leave it to Sasha to think about food every second of the day.

Then, “I saved it for you because you didn’t get to eat any of it.”

And Jean’s heart warmed along with everything inside of him, because if Sasha Blouse, the infamous food hoarder with the notoriously huge appetite, _Sasha freaking Blouse_ , saved _food_ for you, she must truly, truly, truly, love you.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to the slender curve of her shoulder blades.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> SQUEALS BECAUSE THE JEAN/SASHA FEELS ARE REAL GUYS. AND THEIR SHIP NAME, FRENCH FRIES?? LIKE SO CUTE I CAN'T EVEN. PLEASE PLEASE IF YOU SHIP THEM CAN WE TALK ABOUT THEM I MEAN THEY'RE I don't even know how they came to be, tbh. BUT I SHIP THEM NOW, OH BOY I DO. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, leave a comment or two and some kudos if you feel like it! <3 ~~Apparently my shamelessness is as real as my feels.~~


End file.
